A Dime a Dozen (32 page)

Pete nodded.

“So what do you think happened?” I asked softly. “Who killed him?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “He was a nice guy, a hard worker. My best guess is that something happened by accident, and then someone tried to cover it up by hiding the body. People can do some mighty stupid things when their backs are against the wall.”

I took a sip of my drink, thinking about the autopsy report and the missing lungs. It wasn’t likely that Enrique’s drowning in a caustic fluid had happened by accident.

Pete hoisted himself off the cooler and paced a bit in front of me.

“The thing that gets me,” he said, “is why did I assume the worst about him? This hardworking, God-fearing family man, why was I so ready to believe that he would desert his wife and children? Do you know how many times in the last four months I’ve walked past that storage room door? Maybe a hundred. And it never occurred to me, not once, that his dead body was right there on the other side all along.”

“You feel bad for doubting him,” I affirmed.

“Yeah, I do. I feel bad for thinking the worst of a good man.”

I finished my drink and climbed down from the cooler as well.

“You seem to do that a lot,” I said. “Suspect the worst in folks. Me, Karen, Enrique. I’m surprised you haven’t already tracked down the killer.”

“Don’t think I’m not looking at every single employee I’ve got, wondering, ‘Could it be him? Could it be her?’”

I smiled.

“And?”

“And, so far, nothing.”

“What about Danny?” I asked.

“What about him?”

“He seems an odd fit for an orchard. Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

“Danny’s a good kid with a sad story,” Pete said. “If you heard it, you’d understand why he is the way he is.”

“Hmm.”

“Plus, remember,” Pete added, “he wasn’t here back then. He never knew Enrique.”

“What about Snake Atkins?”

“Snake? As the
killer?
That sweet kid wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“It was just a thought.”

“No. No way. That’s really grasping at straws.”

“Ah, well,” I said, taking my bottle to the recycle bucket. “It never hurts to explore every possibility.”

I brushed my hands together before reaching into my pocket for my car keys.

“But on that note,” I said, “I think I need to get going.”

Pete nodded, taking a step back so that I could pass by.

“Well, speaking of exploring possibilities,” he said, looking just a tad shy, “what would you think if I happened to ask you out on a date?”

My eyes widened.

“A date with the Fonz?” I cried, unable to help myself. “My inner preteen thanks you for this moment more than you could ever know!”

“That sounds like a thanks but.”

“A thanks but?”

“Yeah, as in ‘Thanks, but…’”

“Ah,” I said, smiling at him, thinking he was even more handsome now than he had been at 19. “Thanks, but I’m involved with someone. I’m sorry. But I’m very flattered that you asked.”

“That’s okay,” he said, leaning back against the porch rail and flashing me his million-dollar smile. “The best ones are always taken.”

Thirty-Four

It was raining by the time I got to my car, a mist just heavy enough to require the use of the windshield wipers. Just to be safe, I popped the hood and looked inside, but there were no stink bombs or anything else unusual wired up inside. I closed the hood and got into the car.

“A date with P.J. the soda jerk,” I said out loud to myself, grinning, as I drove away. A part of me wished I could call up my whole gang from way back when and let them know that he was still a hunk, he was still single, and he had actually asked me out. They’d all be green with envy, I felt sure.

Deep in thought about all that had transpired this evening, I drove up the mountain past rows and rows of apple trees, my car lights casting odd shadows in the tangles of leaves and branches. Just before the last rows of trees, I could see the parking lot for Su Casa, and then I drove up over the highest point on the mountain and started back down the other side. I was nearly to my house when I saw something along the side of the road to my left, and I instinctively braked, afraid it was a deer. What I saw, instead, left me startled and confused. I drove on, my mind racing, wondering what on earth Zeb Hooper was doing at this hour walking up the mountain in the dark! I wouldn’t have known it was him if not for the walking stick. The rain jacket he wore had a hood that obscured his face and shock of white hair.

I thought back to the other time I had seen him walking. He had been headed down the mountain yesterday morning. Now he was walking up, at night? I pulled into my driveway, parked the car next to Harriet’s, and quickly got out. I thought if I went fast enough, I might be able to follow him.

Ignoring the drizzle, I ran out to the road and up the hill. I couldn’t see Zeb up ahead, so I ran faster. Finally, as I reached the crest, I came to a stop, knowing it was no use. Bending over, gasping for breath, I thought that somehow the man had simply disappeared.

Disheartened, I walked back down the mountain, across my drive, and up the steps. As I swung open the front door, I was met with wonderful smells of tomato and oregano and garlic. Harriet stood at the stove, wearing an apron, stirring a big pot of spaghetti sauce.

“You’re all wet!” she cried. “You didn’t have another stink bomb, did you?”

“No,” I said, “just a wild goose chase.”

Harriet had already set the table, so I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and went on into the bedroom to change into dry clothes. Once I was dressed, I came back and took my place at the table. My mind was swirling with all of the events of the day, my brain simply overwhelmed.

What was Zeb doing going up the mountain in the rain, in the dark?

“This is so nice, Harriet,” I said. “Do you know how long it’s been since someone cooked for me?”

“Well, I’m no Betty Crocker,” she replied. “But I do make a mean spaghetti sauce.”

She said grace and then we ate, and I was glad to find that she was correct; despite her usual fare the spaghetti sauce was delicious.

“So what have you been out doing since you left the office?” Harriet asked. “Or do I really not want to know?”

“Nothing too shocking,” I said, smiling. I told her about my talk with Lowell Tinsdale and then my conversation with Pete. Finally, I mentioned the strange comings and goings of Zeb Hooper up and down the mountain.

“Can you imagine what that’s about?” I asked.

“Maybe he’s a health nut and goes for a walk twice a day.”

“Up a winding mountain road in the dark? I don’t think so.”

Harriet retrieved the telephone book and flipped through it until she found a listing for Zebulon Hooper.

“Okay, here he is,” she said. “What’s your address here?”

“Twenty-nine Mountain View Road.”

“He lives at twenty-five. I guess that’s below here? I’d be willing to bet he’s got himself a lady friend. If he lives just below here and she lives above here, then what you’re seeing is old Mr. Zeb taking himself a walk up to spend the night.”

“That may be it,” I said. “But you know as well as I do that the man’s up to something.”

“You mean the money laundering.”

“Yes. He’s got cash coming in from somewhere he needs to wash. We’ve just got to figure out what he’s doing to generate that cash.”

We tossed out ideas for illegal activities, but none of them seemed to fit the person or the area.

“Maybe he’s an art thief,” she said, “like a cat burglar. He goes out and steals—”

“Harriet,” I interrupted. “We’re talking about an older man. I don’t think he’s out doing anything very physical.”

She continued to throw out other ideas, each more implausible than the next, while my mind worked with a conundrum that had been on my mind all day. Finally, at a break in her brainstorming, I brought it up.

“There is one thing about Zeb that’s really been bothering me,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“The day I toured the orchard, he came there in his truck to buy a bin of apples, something he apparently had never done before.”

“So?”

“So, who’s to say he wasn’t coming there to buy the bin that had the body in it?”

Harriet sat back, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“Did he say why he wanted the apples?”

“To make apple wine,” I replied. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”

“I think wine can be made from a lot of different fruits. Hey, maybe he has a still, out in the woods. He spends his nights up there, tending to it. Maybe he makes so much money selling hooch that he has to launder it through his charity!”

“Hooch, Harriet? Nobody makes hooch anymore, at least not illegally, for profit. I seem to recall that Prohibition ended about eighty years ago.”

I gathered our dirty dishes and carried them to the sink.

“It was just a suggestion.”

“I know,” I said as I turned on the faucet and squirted soap into the dishpan. “We’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

I plunged a plate into the hot sudsy water. Sometimes my mind worked best when I was concentrating on other things.

“Hey, why don’t we go do something fun tonight?” Harriet said, getting up from the table to put away the food.

“I’m not going line dancing,” I said.

“There’s no place to do that in town anyway,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me. “But I saw a bowling alley. Or I bet we could find a movie theater.”

“Sorry, Harriet,” I said, “but I’ve got more work to do.”

I also wanted to spend some time on the phone with Tom, though I didn’t tell her that.

“What kind of work can you possibly do at this hour that would accomplish anything?”

“Internet research. It’s time to hit some more of the criteria. I have some phone calls I need to make, too.”

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m tired of working. I guess I can watch a movie or something. You’ve got a pretty good collection here.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, a whole cabinet full.”

She crossed the room to swing open a door on the entertainment center, revealing several shelves of DVDs. I realized that they must’ve been bought and put there by the Realtor in her efforts to make this place a more appealing rental unit.

“Well, there you go.”

Harriet came back and finished putting away the food, and then she grabbed a towel to dry the dishes I had washed. We worked side by side in companionable silence and, again, I thought how pleasant it was to have someone with me. I loved my job enormously, but all the time I spent alone on the road was starting to take its toll.

“So, Callie,” she said casually, and by the tone of her voice I could tell there was nothing casual about it, “now that you’re dating Tom, has he told you what J.O.S.H.U.A. stands for?”

“No,” I laughed. “That one’s still a mystery.”

“I think about it all the time,” she said. “My best guess is that it’s Just Our Secret Hidden Undercover Anonymous Foundation.”

“Don’t think so, Harriet.”

“How about Jelly On Spaghetti Has Untold Aromas? Janie’s Oversized Shoes Have Unusual Arches?”

“Hey, you’re pretty good at this.”

“Well? What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I figure it’s something religious, like Jesus Our Savior Hears Us Ask.”

“Whatever it is, it’s bound to be pretty cheesy. No wonder he doesn’t publicize it.”

While Harriet went back to the DVD cabinet and picked out a movie, I dumped the dishwater down the sink and wiped the table clean to set it up for my internet work. I figured it would take at least two hours to do all I had to do, but if I were successful, then I could scratch several more criteria off my list.

I tried calling Detective Sweetwater but got her voice mail again. I left another message and then used the wireless password the Realtor had given me to go online. I was surprised to see an e-mail waiting for me from Tom.

I sat back in my chair, a slow smile curving my lips. No matter the problems and confusion here, he was still coming. We would finally be together in four days!

I got offline and headed for the bedroom to call him. Harriet was so absorbed in her movie that she didn’t even notice. Hopefully, I would be able to reach him and hear the wonderful, calming sound of his voice.